Call her anything but late for dinner!

Day 4

If you have food, call her "Opal!" If you have food, call her "Beano!" Either name works equally well if you're holding anything resembling a snack and/or meal. Heck, you can cluck like a chicken, and Opal Hound comes bounding across the hard boards, clicking her toes and trailing long, thin lines of coonhound drool!

Opal Hound proves she can be patient while Jim cuts the cheese.

And don't bother quoting to her from all those articles about how well dogs do on veggie and grains diets. Opal Hound is a committed carnivore.

We weren't concerned last night when post-op Opal showed no interest in her kibble. She'd eat in the morning after, the drugs had worn off.

"Morning" kicked in about 5:30. In the darkness, her tail softly thump...thump...thumped 

against the plastic wall of her crate. Still, she uttered not a whimper, nary a whine. Just her tail drumming on the side of her crate as if to say, "I hear you out there. I smell you near. I know you are coming to let me out."

Her crate opened, she made straight for the back door. First things first after a l-o-n-g night for this lady! 

She moved well, with a spring to her steps, as she trotted all around the border of the back yard. She took her squat and turned back toward the house, glancing only once over her shoulder to insure I was following. Opal showed no ill effects from her surgery.

So I was somewhat surprised when she again turned up her nose at the kibble. She scarcely sniffed at it before going directly to our bedroom and curling up beside Annie. The girl is showing herself to be a woman's dog.

Mrs. Miller's bed is THE place to be on a chilly November morning!
[From top] Simba, Beano, Opal Hound, Raja

After my shift at the dealership I was home a little after two. Annie reported that Opal still had not eaten, and her activity through the morning suggested she was neither sick nor feeling poorly from her surgery. Okay, time had come to do something.

I found a hunk of chuck roast in the fridge, left over from Sunday's back yard bash. Both Beano and Opal were at my side as I began slicing cold, medium-rare beef! The first quarter-inch thick slice was further cut into bite-sized pieces. Both dogs were drooling at attention. Pieces of meat were offered to both dogs simultaneously, because Beano can get super possessive and snappish when it comes to other critters and his chow.

Please, sir, may I have some more?

The good news, of course, is that Opal wasn't off her feed. She just doesn't care for the kibble served here! 

About halfway through dividing up the roast, my son Brian showed up at the front door. When I returned to the kitchen, several slices and the remaining hunk I had been carving from were gone.

Somehow, I seriously doubt that Opal Hound shared her purloined roast with brother Beano. Clearly, nothing consisting of meat or resembling meat can be left unattended on the kitchen cutting board.

The Fix Is In

Day 3

First thing this morning Opal was checked into the P.E.T.S. clinic to be spayed. No pictures for today's update. Some things just don't need to be seen on Facebook.

How is it that a dog who was a total stranger a mere 40-odd hours earlier can be physically and emotionally missed mere moments after she's gone? Damn dog.

She came through the procedure with the proverbial flying colors. Folks at the clinic couldn't brag on her enough, although I suspect they heap praise on every patient. But in Opal's case, all the good things they had to say about her were absolutely true!

This evening she is up but minimally active. As I write she is curled on the bed beside Annie. Some pain and discomfort registers in her eyes, and she certainly isn't bounding nor galumphing anywhere. She has taken fresh water, asked to be let out to pee but turned up her nose at food.

Oh, yeah! Opal apparently came to us house trained! Thank you, Lord! Two days and two nights without letting loose in the house, and this evening she walked to the backdoor, asking to be let out. She took care of business, checked the perimeter, whoofed at a dog barking up the alley, sniffed a couple of pee mails from Beano, then asked me to escort her back to the cozy warmth of our shared den and Annie's bed.

And there's the crate thing....

Annie picked me up from the dealership this afternoon, and we set off in search of something called a KONG , a rubber chew toy that can be filled with treats. Jan Herzog, our friend from the shelter and Opal's true rescuer--suggested a KONG as a tool for crate training. Jan said KONGs are the toy of choice among dogs on long, crate-confined road trips. Like from Texas to New York.

Our local Petco offered more options than you can shake a toy chihuahua at. Plus, they had TOTALLY rearranged their store since last I had called! Half an hour and some 25 bucks later, I was out the door with a KONG Classic, Large, and a box of KONG STUFF'N.

Some nice voice from the clinic called around 2:30. Opal was ready to be picked up anytime before 5. She was subdued, not her "bubbly" self, but if she was pissed at us for what she had gone through, she hid it well. Frankly, I think she was groggy from the drugs and too uncomfortable to be angry.

Back at home, Annie was on the desktop. Opal slowly made her way to the desk and curled up at Annie's feet. She did not want to drink. She did not want to eat. She did not want to squabble with Beano over Beano's smelly old cow. Yes, she seemed glad to be returned to what (we hope) is beginning to feel a little bit like a home, but she clearly did NOT want to be bothered!

Which was cool with all concerned. Oh, Beano made a few overtures toward her, but reluctantly backed off, whining softly, when Opal refused to be enticed. We all left her to her recovering, each doing his or her own thing, including Beano.

Opal takes to Beano's crate

After an hour or so, Opal got up and silently slipped into Beano's crate all on her own. Discovered, she gazed out, somewhat forlorn-looking, as if to ask, "Is it okay?"

We let her stay, thrilled that she had CHOSEN to excuse herself on her own. We would have been more thrilled, perhaps, had she chosen her own crate. We are quite aware of the potential problems that can arise if Beano feels like his space is being invaded by this come-lately hound, even as we are careful to give him the attention and acceptance he has come to expect in his forever home.

Then, after napping out in Beano's digs for some 20 minutes, Opal again got up on her own and walked directly to her borrowed crate in her borrowed bedroom!

All things considered, Opal's very bad, no good day turned out not so completely horrid after all.

Clay County Coonhound

Some 52 pounds of lap dog

Mrs. Miller did some Googling today. Now she is convinced that Opal is mostly black and tan coonhound. What we have seen of her temperament and personality so far certainly checks out with the general expectations for the breed: She's a triple handful of cheerful, affectionate, docile, prone to nap, drooling lap dog in a queen sized package.

To be sure, there's something or things in the mix besides coonhound, but we haven't quite figured out the candidate breeds just yet.

Next to nothing is known of her origin. She showed up at a private residence in rural Clay County, Texas, one day. Several days were spent trying to locate her family or anyone else who might know where she belonged. When that effort failed, she was taken to the animal impound lockup.

Her stay at the pound was extended beyond the typical period a couple of times. Clearly, staff members recognized a potentially fine and valuable creature in this abandoned (most likely) dog. Still, no one came forward to claim her nor to adopt. Further extensions to delay her execution were denied.

In a last ditch, eleventh hour act to save this dog, folks at the Clay County Animal Shelter called on my friend to intervene. A quickie adoption was arranged and the dog was brought to the Humane Society Wichita County shelter where she was registered as "Opal Hound."

It's like sleeping with a deer!!

Day Two, morning of...

4 am: Beano starts his let-me-out-please whine.... Wait 15 to see if he means it... He does.

I get up on the third whine, open his crate and redirect him from our warm bed to the cold back door. Waiting in the still-dark utility room for Beano to do his thing, it occurs to me that I can't recall how Beano learned to accept his crate. I have no recollection of the process. It's like the memory card for that process has been removed from cerebral storage. The thought is mildly worrisome for about a minute and a half.

Meanwhile, Opal passed the first night in a strange room and a borrowed crate without a whimper. The girl is no whiner. I know I should let her out for a break, too, but it's two hours before alarm time. I know I can get Beano back in his bed. I have no assurance with Opal.

Seems to me that our species, we so-called wise men, think of ourselves more highly than we ought. We are human! Self-aware! Tool Maker! Builder of Empires!! THINKERS!!! In the eyes and minds of dogs, however, we are just another dog!

What is man without the beasts?

If all the beasts were gone,

men would die from a great loneliness of spirit.

For whatever happens to the beasts,

soon happens to man.

All things are connected.

~ Chief Seattle

Later.... 5:15 or so. I'm in the kitchen, fixing up breakfasts all around, and I hear the sound of a small moose galumphing across the floor and bounding to the bed.

OH MY GOD, IT'S LIKE SLEEPING WITH A DEER!!! Annie shouts, laughing.

So much for not jumping on the bed....

Look what followed us home!!!

Opal found us on Facebook.

Opal (front) and Beano take a brief break from The Sniffing Game"

One of the Humane Society of Wichita County's best friends posted Opal Hound's pic on her page with a brief synopsis of her plight. That dog had me at first glance.

We do not know much about her back story. And we have a little over two weeks to build a file about her before she goes to a permanent home in New York.

NEW YORK CITY!??!

No, thank heavens. I wouldn't wish relocation to New York City on .... a cat! No, Opal Hound is destined for the upstate woods and countryside.

Our mission--before the transport departs--is to learn as much as we can about Opal's likes and dislikes, her level of training, her habits and behaviors. Is she housebroken? How does she relate to other creatures on her turf? What is her tolerance for small humans totally lacking in social skills?

And between bouts of observing and reporting, get her crate-trained for the long relocation road trip ahead.

Crate training may be the biggie here. She has no love for The Box. That was evident when we loaded her aboard the Blazer to bring her home, and again, just moments ago, putting her to bed in her new (to her) borrowed bedroom.

For all her dislike of being crated, though, she is profoundly silent about it. Once inside, she accepts her fate, calmly and quietly. So somehow we need to broaden her acceptance to entering the crate mostly on her own without gentle-yet-assertive persuasion. 


So as Day One comes to a close, what have we discovered?

Opal is a sweet-tempered dog. She gets on well with other animals, although she is a little leery of cats.

"She has obviously had dealings with cats at some point," Mrs. Miller adds. "She is leery, but not the least bit aggressive toward them. She hasn't shown any signs of aggression toward anything."

Annie also noted that she car rides well.

She likes playing ball even though her ball-handling skills are slightly north of tripping over her own feet.

She is keenly alert to her surroundings, her attention peeked at any new sound.

"Even when other dogs are barking, Opal remains quiet," Annie says. "This may change as she becomes more accustomed to her new surroundings, but so far she has not barked at anything."

Brought into a strange environment, her first task is a thorough investigation of the turf.

She is affectionate. Wouldn't take much to make a lap dog of her, but it would require one strong and ample lap! She does have a desire to jump up on you once she gets to know you a bit, but she remains hesitant to do so. When she does climb into your face, she is easily dissuaded from doing so.

She is able to negotiate terms with at least one other dog sharing her "home" turf.

As for the cats...well, she'll just wait for them to come around to her.

Day 1

Excuse me, but is there a big old sign on my back screaming in all caps, "KICK ME!!"?

Mrs. Miller and myself brought Opal home this afternoon. Opal is a rescue hound from the Humane Society of Wichita County, and what she lacks in grace, she more than compensates for in subtle seduction. This gal, young as she is, knows how to win friends.

Her ungainlyness stems from her, well, stems! She's pretty much all legs and too-big feet, so she's still a growing girl. She is mostly hound with a black and brown blend coat that would do any bloodhound proud. Still, her pedigree has to read "mixed blood". Little to nothing is known about her former family.

Opal Hound is New York bound!

This decision to foster a dog was not taken lightly. Anyone who has ever lived with and lost a friend knows parting is much more than sweet sorrow. It hurts like hell.

Annie and I have talked about it for a few months at least. She, of course, was ready to try it long before I was. Separation anxiety aside, our household supported two elderly humans, four cocky cats, a lonesome cockatiel and one adolescent boglen terrier. I had some concerns about, shall we say, logistics?

Hey! I got an idea!! Let's throw a strange animal into the mix and see how many feeding, watering, peeing, pooping, sleeping, ball chasing, cat baiting routines we can upset!!!

And it's not like you introduce the outsider into the pack and let her figure things out for herself. This is NOT YOUR PET! She is a guest, if you will, a sojourner in transit from Wichita Falls to Whoknowswhere, NY. She'll be a fleeting foster member of our pack for three weeks.

Three weeks. Then she's gone. Damn Dog!

So why do it? All kidding aside, for a moment. Why would any sane person volunteer to have their heart slammed full between a rock and a hard place?

The late Joe Brown once said, "I can't do a damn thing about hunger, poverty, or war or any of the big problems like that. I can help this one dog here, though, which should be good enough for both of us."